


Late Morning

by the_pen_is_mightier



Series: waking up to you [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tenderness, They love each other, Waking Up, aziraphale sleeps, early morning, lil bit of touch-starved aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 08:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: Aziraphale wakes up and wants to cuddle.





	Late Morning

Aziraphale opened his eyes slowly. They were heavy, and slightly sticky-feeling, and they blinked at the warm light filling his bedroom. It took him several moments to realize the light was sunlight - that it must be past nine o’ clock in the morning, far into the day. He’d overslept. 

It was the first time he’d ever slept all through the night. He’d never seen much use for sleeping, especially not for as long as humans did it - wasted hours and hours that could be spent reading simply unconscious. But since the end of the world he’d had a reason to be in bed all that time. And he’d had a source of nightly distraction from his books. 

Aziraphale looked up to see Crowley sitting over him, still in his pajamas. His face was at an odd angle, from Aziraphale’s position; Aziraphale had never been the one lying down before, never the one waking up. 

“Morning, angel,” said Crowley. 

Aziraphale’s breath caught momentarily in his throat. Crowley’s words were brimful, bursting with tenderness. The love that rolled out from Crowley’s every move, every glance, now that it was unchecked and unrestrained, was each day a new wonder to discover. 

“Mph.” Aziraphale found it was a struggle to unravel his tongue. It was just as heavy and sleepy as his eyes. “Good morning.” 

Crowley’s hand cupped Aziraphale’s jaw, thumb gently stroking his cheek. “How was it, your first real sleep?” 

Aziraphale recalled how exhausted he’d been last night, how Crowley had curled his arms around him and said _rest, angel, you need some human rest_, how he’d drifted, carried on a tide he didn’t quite understand, into a warm and comforting oblivion. He recalled how soft sleep had seemed, free of thoughts and worries, free of everything except a sensation of buoyancy over calm, still water. He felt, now, as though he’d been recreated in the night. He felt new and unused to light and sound. He felt as though unspoken barriers around him had crumbled. 

“Lovely,” he murmured. “I can see why you like it so much.” 

But with those barriers down, he thought after a moment, he felt a strange hollowness around his chest, a desire that his fully-awake self had beaten back. He shifted slightly in the sheets. 

“What can I do for you, angel?” asked Crowley, his voice still impossibly gentle, smiling down at Aziraphale as though he was some blessed work of art. “I want to do something for you. Shall I make breakfast?” 

At the words the hollowness in Aziraphale’s chest ached. Hardly believing himself, he shook his head. 

“No breakfast?” Crowley looked taken aback. “D’you… d’you want me to help you open the shop?” 

He shook his head again. He didn’t think he’d be opening today. 

“A book, then?” 

Aziraphale shifted his position again, pulling his arms out from under the blanket, and held them out and open. “Can I hold you?” 

The question seemed to strike Crowley still. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged, as though he’d forgotten what he was going to say; instead he continued to stare down at Aziraphale. Aziraphale didn’t move. The hollowness in his chest begged to be filled with the press of Crowley’s back, the curve of his spine. Aziraphale wanted to fold Crowley into himself and keep him there, like a jewel nestled deep in his heart. 

It wasn’t usual for him to feel it this deeply. But sleep, as it turned out, drained him of any will for decorum or distance. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, his voice suddenly choked. 

“I just need you, dear, at the moment.” 

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand, lips brushing softly over his palm. “Aziraphale. I love you so much.” 

“Come here.” 

Slowly Crowley crept underneath the sheets again. He turned and let himself be pulled flush against Aziraphale’s chest, and the warmth of Crowley - warm, after a night in bed with Aziraphale, as though he’d been lying on a sun-drenched rock - eclipsed the hollowness at once. Aziraphale sighed. 

“You like holding me?” Crowley mumbled, sounding small. 

Aziraphale kissed the back of his head. “More than anything.” 

Crowley wiggled a little in his arms, pushing closer. Aziraphale took it as an invitation to tighten his hold, hugging Crowley to him with force, and for a moment it seemed they couldn’t possibly be near enough to each other. 

“Soft,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale smiled against his skin. “Yes?” 

“Soft. Angel. You’re so soft.” 

He kissed Crowley beneath his ear. It was all he could do to express the affection that flooded him. “You know, I could keep you here forever, dear.”

“Would you?” 

“I could keep you safe. Right here in my arms.”

“Oh, _angel_.” 

Aziraphale kissed him again, and again, and then shut his eyes. So long as Crowley wasn’t going anywhere he thought he might go to sleep again. He thought he might sleep the whole day, and keep this feeling, this soft, floating, dreaming feeling, humming through him for as long as he could. 

He’d gone without anyone in his arms for millenia. But he was home now. Crowley was here.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my work? Find me on tumblr at @whatawriterwields! 
> 
> Please leave comments, they keep me going!


End file.
